STORIES IN DEFENSE OF DEFERRED ACTION FOR CHILDHOOD ARRIVALS

Most of us want a productive, hopefully meaningful life in which we do work that benefits not only ourselves, but also others—that makes our communities stronger and healthier. But many young people who grew up in the U.S. are facing the kind of uncertainty about their futures that for many of us would be almost paralyzing. DACA, a government program that allows them to work with authorization and without constantly being in fear that they might be deported, is under threat of being terminated. We can’t let this happen. Here are some of these people’s stories. (If you’ve got a DACA story of your own, please share it with us HERE.)

• “I can’t imagine what Georgetown would be like without them”
• “All my dreams and aspirations are now crumbling down with the new threats to the DACA program”
• “Having an actual identity in this country gave me life”
• “I have fought for every chance at a better life given to me”
• “I don’t know how not to be an American, and DACA has given me a taste of truly belonging in this country”
• “I’m not sure how to explain how grateful I am that I was able to get DACA”
• “I just can’t imagine going under the shadows again. I refuse to go under the shadows again.”
• “I endure because of my belief in the Constitution and the spirit of the law”
• “We hope for an American future …”
• “Without it, I am in limbo forever”
• “This little piece of freedom to be almost normal, like my peers”
• “Someone with a thicker Queens accent than myself could be deported”
• “¡No me callo, no me siento, no me voy!”
• “I am bold enough to say, ‘You need me’”
• “She should be treated with dignity and respect for all she’s added to our society”
• “Anywhere we are planted we are capable of blooming”

By Marguerite Guter, from Marquette, Michigan

I never interacted much with undocumented immigrants growing up, but since college I have. Several of my good friends at Georgetown University are undocumented, and I can never imagine all the fear and hurt their families have been through because of their status.

Please protect DACA so that my friends can stay and go to school and become the incredibly successful people I know they’ll be.

However, they received DACA, which allowed them to come to Georgetown.

These friends are some of the most inspiring people I know, and I’ve been on trips with them. They’re leaders on campus and do well in school, and I can’t imagine what Georgetown would be like without them. Certainly a worse place to go to school.

Please protect DACA so that my friends can stay and go to school and become the incredibly successful people I know they’ll be.

By Berenice, in Kansas City, Kansas

My parents immigrated to this great country in 2003, when I was only 10 years old. Although I do wish my parents had immigrated to this county with legal documentation, I cannot blame them for trying to give me a better life, as that is what any loving parent would do.

I love this country as my own, even though sometimes I feel like it does not reciprocate my feelings.

I have been living in Kansas City, Kansas, since my family and I arrived in this country. I love this country as my own, even though sometimes I feel like it does not reciprocate my feelings. I will be eternally grateful for all the opportunities that have been provided to me, and those opportunities have not been taken for granted.

In 2012, President Obama introduced the Deferred Action of Childhood Arrivals, also known as DACA. I immediately applied for this program and soon after received a work authorization card.

Our country stands to benefit tremendously from the DACA program, and I believe this is also the compassionate thing to do for young people like myself who are, in our hearts, Americans.

DACA has changed my life for the better, as it gave me the opportunity to come out of the shadows, and for a short period of time I felt that I had achieved the American Dream. I have a great job in a nonprofit organization that I love. I graduated from college in 2016 with a Bachelor’s of Arts in Sociology and Political Sciences, and I am currently enrolled to start graduate school in the fall.

However, all my dreams and aspirations are now crumbling down with the new threats to the DACA program.

We have proven time and time again that we are individuals with good moral character and that we are a strong force contributing to American society. Our current immigration system is not only broken, but unjust. Our country stands to benefit tremendously from the DACA program, and I believe this is also the compassionate thing to do for young people like myself who are, in our hearts, Americans.

“Berenice” is a pseudonym.

By Esmeralda, in Santa Clara, California

I am a current DACA recipient. Given that I am a member of a multi–[immigration] status family, DACA has allowed me to do more for my family, financially and emotionally.

DACA has allowed me to do more for my family, financially and emotionally.

In regards to education, DACA gave me access to the resources I could never afford prior. Having to experience these hardships, I dedicated my life to support the diverse population of students in California, from pre-K to higher education.

DACA allowed me to complete my A.A. and transfer to a four-year institution. I was finally able to complete my Bachelor’s degree. After ten long years, this past May, I graduated with a Master’s and would love to continue on to a PhD.

DACA gave me access to a humane job with a living wage. DACA allowed me to have a driver’s license. Having an actual identity in this country gave me life. I could live without my everyday fear of being deported or having to drive without a license.

DACA changed my life for the best: being able to legally drive, travel to other states in the country, finish my degrees, have a fulfilling job, and give back to my community.

DACA gave me access to open a bank account with a credit line, and I would love to one day do something with that credit, like invest in the country I consider my home: the U.S.

DACA changed my life for the best: being able to legally drive, travel to other states in the country, finish my degrees, have a fulfilling job, and give back to my community.

Most importantly, DACA gave me life.

By Alejandra, in Los Angeles

I was born in Mexico in 1985. I came to the U.S. with my parents and my younger brother in 1990.

I always went above and beyond in school. My parents instilled in me the importance of an education; going to college was never not an option until I realized I was undocumented. UC Berkeley flew me in for a week to visit their campus. That was my dream school. Unfortunately, I had to give it up because I was undocumented.

My dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor and was not able to work. My mom was our sole source of income. I would help her on the weekends to sell food out of our family car just to make ends meet.

Thankfully, AB540 was passed in California, and I was able to enroll at Cal State Long Beach for the fall of 2003. I was not able to apply for FAFSA, so I used scholarships I had earned due to my high testing scores to pay for college, and I also worked full time. I went to school full time and worked full time my freshman year and still maintained a high GPA that placed me on the dean of students’ honor roll.

My classes increased in difficulty, so I decided to start going to school part time and work full time. Plus I needed to help at home financially. My dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor and was not able to work. My mom was our sole source of income. I would help her on the weekends to sell food out of our family car just to make ends meet. Plus she would give me money for a book or two to contribute towards my education in some way.

I cannot ever repay her. All her sacrifice.

I found a better job in Orange County, so I transferred to Cal State Fullerton. There I obtained my bachelor’s degree in economics in 2011. Yes, it took me eight years to get my degree. I paid out-of-pocket my last five years and had to attend part time.

I also took a year off in 2006 because my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer and I wanted to take care of him—the doctor gave him 6-7 months. He fought, but unfortunately he passed July 2006. He’s been my fuel, and my mom’s, ever since. Making sure his sacrifice of bringing us to a foreign country to have a better life was not in vain.

Yet my biggest concern, if DACA is rescinded, is not what I might lose, it is the thousands of young undocumented kids still in grade/high school or still in college working towards furthering their education. What will happen to them?

I knew my master’s was next but I was not sure how I was going to be able to do it. DACA came to be in 2012, and it was like a breath of fresh air—some peace of mind to all the years I had been living in fear of getting fired or, worse, deported. With the security I felt in my job now, I decided to go for a promotion and got it. I applied to my master’s program in applied mathematics, got accepted and received my master’s degree this past May. I also bought a home in 2016. I’m able to help my mom financially and my brothers. DACA made that possible.

Yet my biggest concern, if DACA is rescinded, is not what I might lose, it is the thousands of young undocumented kids still in grade/high school or still in college working towards furthering their education. What will happen to them? This is our country and we love it just as much as any native-born American. We belong here, and all we ask is for a chance, a chance to show our gratitude and to contribute to this great nation.

Regardless of my struggles I am thankful to be here. I have never taken the opportunity given to me by my parents for granted, so I have fought for every chance at a better life given to me. I will continue to fight for all the young Dreamers so that they too can have the opportunity at a better life, because I know they are also fighters like me, like our parents.

By Magda, in Houston

I arrived to the United States when I was 12 years old, without knowing a single word of English. My mom came with hopes of giving me a better future, since the country we came from, Colombia, at the time was a complete mess, from my understanding.

I do know that when we came here with a U.S. visa, we immediately applied for political asylum, [and] it took eight years for us to get the final denial of the asylum.

I do know that when we came here with a U.S. visa, we immediately applied for political asylum, [and] it took eight years for us to get the final denial of the asylum. At that moment, I was a student in the University of Texas at Austin, and all I could think of was finishing my degree. I was fortunate to have a mom who put a big emphasis on education; by being a straight-A student, I managed to get all private scholarships, which paid fully for my education.

When DACA was announced in 2012, my life took a 180-degree turn. I am now able to use my degrees as a data business analyst and work for a Fortune 100 company, and I’m working towards getting my master’s. I pay taxes every single year and do not depend on the government whatsoever to pay for my expenses. On the contrary, I do my best to contribute and give back to the community as much as I can, because I consider myself to be an American, and that’s what Americans do: they help each other out when they need it the most.

The United States has given me such a great opportunity, and I promise you I have done everything in my power to give back as much as I can to its citizens, whether it is volunteering at neighborhood festivals, reading in public libraries, donating money to organizations close to my heart, or not getting in trouble with the law at all. I did have one traffic ticket, for speeding, three years ago, though.

I know more of its history than the country I was born in. I’m currently attempting to read each of the presidents’ biographies, and have pictures of a couple presidents hanging in my house.

I can tell you that I treat the name of the United States with the utmost respect. I know more of its history than the country I was born in. I’m currently attempting to read each of the presidents’ biographies, and have pictures of a couple presidents hanging in my house. You may think I’m exaggerating, but I promise you that there’s nothing but admiration for this country and its citizens, and I wish to be able to be allowed the privilege of continuing to live here, even if it’s without a path to citizenship—I’m perfectly okay to continue with my work authorization.

I only speak English at home, I’m a Christian, grew up pledging allegiance to the flag, look forward to the Fourth of July celebration, and all Thanksgiving dinners always involve turkey and sweet potato casseroles. I don’t know how not to be an American, and DACA has given me a taste of truly belonging in this country. So please keep us in consideration.

P.S. By gathering Form 8879 from 2013 to 2016, I see that I’ve contributed $50,274 in federal income tax in the past four years. This figure does not include money provided to Medicare and Social Security tax.

By Gerardo, in Morenci, Michigan

I’m not sure how to explain how grateful I am that I was able to get DACA.

My girls are my world. I will do anything to give them the universe, and DACA has helped me to do that.

DACA has not only changed my life, but it has made my family’s life a little bit easier, because I was able to get a job where I could get health insurance. My wife, an American citizen, was finally able to get the care she needs and is now back in school.

DACA is a great chance for people who want to do better, not only for themselves, but for all the people who depend on them. My girls are my world. I will do anything to give them the universe, and DACA has helped me to do that. I am finally able to dream, that I can send my girls to college, without anyone’s help.

Please help to keep DACA.

By Yanet, in Gilbert, Arizona

Hi, my name is Yanet. I am a DACAmented Dreamer. I have lived in Arizona since I was ten years old.

DACA has changed my life. DACA gave me the opportunity to come out of the shadows. I started from ground zero, like most of us. As soon as my DACA application was approved, I enrolled in college and started working as a caregiver in a memory care facility. Then I obtained my nursing assistant license and started working in an acute rehabilitation facility.

I love to work at the hospital, and I see all these young nurses and they don’t realize how lucky they are to have a career.

As I obtained more experience, my desire to reach my dream grew bigger. I currently work at a regional hospital as patient care technician. I love to work at the hospital, and I see all these young nurses and they don’t realize how lucky they are to have a career. I dream of being in their shoes. I am grateful for what I have, even though, it’s an uncertain future.

DACA gave me a Social Security number, gave me the opportunity to work without fear, gave me a driver’s license, it gave me a home, and it opened the college doors.

I’m going to be honest; it hasn’t been easy here in Arizona. I continue to go to college, but I can only take one or two classes per semester, and sometimes none because it’s very difficult to pay my school semester, my DACA renewal, and my mortgage at the same time. Next semester, I will be taking the bilingual interpreter program to find an extra source of income to continue to pay for my college classes.

I pray that Congress backs me up and all the Dreamers who are in a constant fight to fulfill their dreams.

I have a dream to become a registered nurse, with a BSN from ASU. DACA has given me so much, and DACA works.

I just can’t imagine going under the shadows again. I refuse to go under the shadows again. My life would be over without DACA.

I am trying to do the best I can. It gets rough, but my life was rougher before DACA. I pray that Congress backs me up and all the Dreamers who are in a constant fight to fulfill their dreams.

I love my country and I love my state of Arizona, despite all the attacks that we constantly face. Please don’t let our dreams and everything we have worked so hard for be in vain. Let us fulfill our American Dream. Thank you and God bless you all.

By Maria, in Phoenix

When I was eight years old, my parents decided to bring me to this great country, a decision I will always be grateful about even though a few disagree.

I was taught about our founding fathers, the greatness of our Constitution, but mostly I learned to love this country for its promise of freedom and opportunity.

I was raised with an American mentality—respect the law, work hard, help your neighbors, and be part of the solution, not the problem. As I attended public school, I pledged my alliance to this country every day. I was taught about our founding fathers, the greatness of our Constitution, but mostly I learned to love this country for its promise of freedom and opportunity.

But in the back of my mind I always knew that I didn’t quite belong. I lived in fear of being deported to a foreign country and in shame, because in Arizona some felt that people like me should be rounded up and detained like cattle. Nevertheless, I endure because of my belief in the Constitution and the spirit of the law.

Now, 22 years since my arrival and almost 6 years after DACA, I have become a homeowner, a business owner of a small boutique, and a regional office manager for a national company. And in my spare time I teach English to fellow immigrants like me who only want to contribute.

It saddens me to think that tomorrow I may not be able grow my business or even live in my own home.

I sit in my office thinking about a promotion that I am unwilling to take because I have the uncertainty of what will happen tomorrow. It saddens me to think that tomorrow I may not be able grow my business or even live in my own home.

I am an American by heart, and hope that others see that I and many other Dreamers only want to make this country greater than what it already is. Until then, I will continue to work hard and pursue happiness for myself and others.

By Tim Sell, an American dad, in Maryland

When an Ethiopian boy effectively arrived on our rural central-Maryland doorstep as a one-year-old, my wife and I chose to do the right thing.

Prior to our first meeting, our Ethiopian boy was brought to America for emergency surgery by a missionary sponsored by our church. He received excellent care from the kind folks at the University of Maryland and Ronald McDonald House, both of whom provided their services free of charge. His ventricular septal defect was corrected, and he has not had a single problem with his heart since.

“Surely the politicians will be able to come up with a reasonable solution by the time he grows up,” we thought.

It was after he recovered from the surgery that we learned of the boy’s mother’s desire to leave him in America. She wanted a better life for him. Our church solicited volunteers for a sponsor family. My wife eagerly volunteered, and I somewhat hesitantly agreed. We were both naive.

So began our journey of learning the bumpy road of immigration in America.

My wife and I were able to legally adopt the five-year-old Ethiopian boy in the state of Maryland. It seemed odd to us that legal adoption was possible, despite citizenship being impossible, but adoption was at least a step in the right direction.

The legal adoption status served us well through grade school, as this status allowed our son to attend school in Maryland. We could forget about the “immigration problem” for a few years. “Surely the politicians will be able to come up with a reasonable solution by the time he grows up,” we thought.

But we can pay for the paperwork, we’re willing to navigate through any bureaucracy you throw at us, he’s our legally adopted son, he doesn’t even remember any other country besides America, and doesn’t want any more than what any other American boy wants.

As our son became a teenager, we realized that simple things that other teenagers take for granted, like getting his driver’s license or getting a part-time job, were going to be impossible.

Here’s a phrase we’ve heard from an immigration attorney more than once: “He can’t be here.”

“But we can pay for the paperwork, we’re willing to navigate through any bureaucracy you throw at us, he’s our legally adopted son, he doesn’t even remember any other country besides America and doesn’t want any more than what any other American boy wants …”

“He can’t be here. HE CAN’T BE HERE.”

In 2014, we learned about DACA from an immigration attorney. DACA seemed to be what we had been waiting for for 16 years. The politicians seemed to be “figuring it out”! Thanks to DACA, later that year, at 17, our son received a Social Security number and an employment authorization card.

It saddened me to learn that our son was ashamed/afraid to admit his immigration status to his friends in high school. He said it was common for him to hear kids talking harshly about “ILLEGALS,” and about how they needed to be sent “home.” I tried to calmly explain to him about how revealing his situation to them might provide them with a more-educated and moral view of the situation. But I understood his rationale in keeping quiet. I still remember being 17. I just wanted to “fit in.” Our son was no different.

Will ICE agents be knocking our door down? Our own American government wouldn’t forcibly send a law-abiding citizen to a strange country … would they?

At 17, our son wanted to become an American soldier. Due to his immigration status, he was turned away. It turned out that not even DACA could help him with that dream.

At 18, thanks to the privileges provided by DACA, our son was able to get part-time jobs working construction and at restaurants. Like any American teenager with a part-time job, he paid his taxes, with help from dad filling out the forms.

At 19, fear. Will DACA end tomorrow? Will ICE agents be knocking our door down? Our own American government wouldn’t forcibly send a law-abiding citizen to a strange country … would they?

At 20, our son wants to study health fitness and physical education at college. He dreams of becoming a fitness instructor or phys-ed teacher. DACA makes that dream possible. We can even hope for better. We hope for an American future where one day he may even be a “legal United States citizen.”

By Fatima, in New York City

My name is Fatima. I am 29 years old, and I’ve lived almost my entire life as undocumented in the United States. My mother immigrated from Bangladesh to New York when I was a year and a half old. My status is unique in the sense that literally everyone in my family, including my mother and all my siblings, have been able to gain citizenship in the United States except for me.

My status is unique in the sense that literally everyone in my family, including my mother and all my siblings, have been able to gain citizenship in the United States except for me.

I have received both my Bachelor’s and Master’s degree at the Fashion Institute of Technology, Summa Cum Laude. Since DACA did not exist when I attended college, I was not able to pay for school with scholarships or aid, even though I would have been an ideal candidate. Instead, I went to school full time, while also working various odd jobs full time to pay for tuition.

I interned part time at prestigious museums and fashion houses knowing that I would never be able to work at those institutions unless I could gain status. I had to turn down dream jobs because I could not be legally paid. While I was a bright student and beloved by notable figures in my university, I had no prospect of furthering my passion in design.

Once DACA [became available], my whole life changed. I was immediately hired by Peter Marino Architects, a world-renowned interior design and architecture firm. I was allowed to finally shine at what I studied to do. DACA gave me the opportunity to work in my field and become well known in the New York City interior design world. I now work as a resource specialist for a promising interior design startup called Fuigo, run by the owners of Fortuny textiles. However, I am still held back in my career, since I am not able to travel. A lot of my work is with international clients.

I am lucky to have always known what my passion is, and DACA allowed me the opportunity to pursue it.

In my personal life, I had not seen my father in 12 years because his quality of life suffered too much as an undocumented immigrant, so he moved back to Bangladesh. He passed away a few months ago, and I was not able to see or be with him, since I can’t travel. This has caused me an immense amount of grief.

I married my husband, an American citizen, in 2014 and applied for an adjustment of status. However, my case has been pending for years with no prospect of being resolved and no answers as to why. I’ve lived in this country my whole life. My entire family is here. I am an active member of my community. I volunteer in charities, I pay federal taxes, I contribute to the American economy in numerous ways. I know no one in Bangladesh and have no roots or ties there.

I am lucky to have always known what my passion is, and DACA allowed me the opportunity to pursue it. Without it, I am in limbo forever. I’ve lost a lot in my life due to my undocumented status. I want to keep contributing to this country that I call home, but I can’t if I’m not treated as a member of society.

By Shahrzad, in Chicago

My family applied for visitor visas in the early ’90s, and by 1996 we were granted a visa to come visit my grandparents in Chicago from India. It was a really BIG deal for my family, and the fact that I hadn’t seen my grandparents in three to four years only added to the excitement.

Once we got here, my grandparents felt strongly that my siblings and I would get a better education in the USA and convinced my parents to leave us here to be raised by them. My parents went back to India, and my siblings and I were left behind in pursuit of higher education and a better life.

Unlike in Latino communities where there is a bit more openness regarding one’s status, in Indian (South-Asian) communities there is nothing but fear and stigma.

I was a sophomore in high school when I first realized that I didn’t have a nine-digit Social Security number and therefore my options were super limited. Unlike in Latino communities, where there is a bit more openness regarding one’s status, in Indian (South-Asian) communities there is nothing but fear and stigma.

I never told any of my friends that I was undocumented. I always made an excuse as to why I was not planning to go to college, or why I couldn’t apply for certain jobs like my peers. In my senior year, I finally confided in one of my high school teachers, and she was able to find sources for me to be able to go to college.

I attended one semester of art school when 9/11 happened. All of a sudden, the school started questioning my immigration status, and I had to drop out. It was the worst feeling to know that I couldn’t continue with my education. I went into deep depression and started self-medicating through alcohol and partying.

A few years later, I finally got myself together and went back to school. I started in community college, and took one class at a time. I was able to get my associate’s in 2008. I applied to 4-year university to get my bachelors in sociology. Toward the last semester of school, I started getting depressed and feeling anxious that even after a degree I would continue to work at a dead-end job.

This is gonna sound crazy, but I LOVE paying income taxes.… It confirms my belief that I am a contributing member of this country.

However, that summer President Obama announced DACA. It changed my life. I finally was able to hope and plan for my future. As soon as DACA came out, I applied and was granted approval to be able to work. It has been 5 years since I got DACA; I will be renewing it in the next few weeks. Having DACA connected me with a job I love. My income went from living paycheck to paycheck to something substantial. I purchased my first car earlier this year, I have health insurance through my work, and I can travel within the USA. The feeling to be able to travel even within the USA is a small freedom, but its everything I can ask for. This little piece of freedom to be almost normal, like my peers.

But most importantly—this is gonna sound crazy, but I LOVE paying income taxes. I love taking my shoebox to H&R Block and doing my taxes every year. It confirms my belief that I am a contributing member of this country. And, yes, sometimes as a DACAmented youth it feels like “Taxation without Representation,” but it is still something that allows me to be part of this country.

I belong here. I don’t remember anything about India except what I hear from my family members who get to visit or still live there. My Hindi is terrible, my sense of independence and feminism too strong that I know, if I am to go back, I will not survive in a culture/country I no longer belong to.

“Shahrzad” is a pseudonym.

By Carolyn Ferrucci, in New York City

I grew up in New York City. Many of my neighbors and friends are “immigrants.” I put this in quotes because, of course, unless indigenous, one is from elsewhere and has once been an immigrant (although this is hidden by the current establishment to create an exceptionalist, isolationist and, frankly, racist narrative to feed its followers).

So many of these students, like my dear friends, work hard … and become fearless educators, social workers, lawyers, doctors—all vital to our society.

My friends went to the same schools, lived blocks away. The difference was unknown to me at the time, and is now a known and scary reality, that someone with a thicker Queens accent than myself could be deported if this program is removed, if they’re unable to pay fees for lawyers to renew it every two years, not to mention receive any minor print on a criminal record.

I currently teach in New York City’s Department of Youth and Community Development, along with many other nonprofits which help our public schools get art and science classes. So many of these students are undocumented and living in fear.

Please keep and improve DACA, and create more programs like it.

So many of these students, like my dear friends, work hard, get into our best colleges, and become fearless educators, social workers, lawyers, doctors—all vital to our society. New York City and so many of our communities culturally, economically, and educationally thrive because of the immigrants working, thriving, hard inside of them.

Please keep and improve DACA, and create more programs like it.

By Gloria, in New York City

Like most of my fellow Dreamers, I did not understand what being “illegal” meant until I started applying for higher education.

I have watched in horror and despair as my community gets terrorized by the current administration, and although it is hard and overwhelming at times, I want everyone to know that we are not afraid.

I graduated high school the summer of 2008 and quickly realized that my dreams of being a college graduate were at risk for something I didn’t completely understand. Against all odds, I put myself through college. I worked 40-hour weeks as a server, under terrible conditions and with no hourly pay. I went to a private university; with scholarships and full support from my professors, I graduated in 2012.

I have a B.F.A.—it took work, blood and tears, but I made it just in time for the DACA permit. I moved from Texas to New York City to pursue my dreams, and I’m currently able to support myself and my mother thanks to my work permit. I’ve been advocating for and educating my family and community about immigration rights since high school.

I have watched in horror and despair as my community gets terrorized by the current administration, and although it is hard and overwhelming at times, I want everyone to know that we are not afraid.

We Dreamers are made of something different. We are the culture and blood of our origins, but we are also the promise and future of this country.

We Dreamers are made of something different. We are the culture and blood of our origins, but we are also the promise and future of this country.

We are Mexican, we are Latinos, we are Asians, we are Muslims, we are Everyone, and WE ARE NOT AFRAID. We are educated individuals ready to fight, because we don’t know anything else—we have been fighting since we were born. Fighting to keep our cultures and traditions while being American, fighting to make our families proud, fighting for our space in this country, fighting to never go back to the shadows again.

And we will keep fighting. NO ME CALLO, NO ME SIENTO, NO ME VOY.

By Guadalupe, from Harris County, Texas

My name is Guadalupe. I feel blessed to tell my story because my story is not about circumstances, my story is about ME. I’m the kind of individual who has recognized that in order to help others, I must help myself.

I’m the kind of individual who has recognized that in order to help others, I must help myself.

My parents’ separation led to both financial and emotional instabilities, but it has not deterred my efforts to self-sustain. I pay for my own education and bills. I sign my own lease and responsibly manage my debts. I know the value I possess in the eyes of potential employers, and I am bold enough to say, “You need me.”

I’m studying Mechanical Engineering at Texas A&M University. Being the oldest, I thought that no one but me would aspire to such an improbable feat. “Undocumented women studying engineering” is not a common theme in my family. But, interestingly enough, now it is. Now my sisters light up when they say, “I wanna be a doctor!” And my two undocumented sisters want to attend A&M, too.

When we don’t encourage just ONE child like me—first-generation and low-income—we are discouraging an entire community of trailblazers from molding the very landscape of our everyday life.

When we don’t encourage just ONE child like me—first-generation and low-income—we are discouraging an entire community of trailblazers from molding the very landscape of our everyday life.

We need them, but this story is about me, nonetheless. It’s about the 20-year-old girl who might not be able to afford her school come this spring 2018 but has made up her mind. She’s the undocumented woman studying mechanical engineering at Texas A&M University, and she’s quite willing to share her story to help herself be the conscientious leader the world demands.

By Chad Mann, in Troy, Idaho

I

am a U.S. citizen, so I’m not covered by DACA. However, in my current and previous professional roles I’ve had the amazing opportunity to work with many DREAMers and their families.

I have been lucky to get to learn from these amazing humans, which is what they are. Humans.

Whether it’s been helping students and families navigate the process of applying for, attending, and graduating from college or taking charge of their physical and mental health, I have been lucky to get to learn from these amazing humans, which is what they are. Humans.

So much political discourse seeks to dehumanize immigrants, including young people covered by DACA, and they are so much more than that. My past students have gone on to graduate with engineering and social work degrees. Some have gotten into activism to promote the human rights of their community members.

One young lady in particular has become one of my closest friends. She works as a special education teacher, a job that very few people in this country are able or willing to do.

I truly hope the president and Congress will listen to all the stories shared and do the right thing.

She fought her way through an unfathomable amount of obstacles just to graduate with a dual-degree in social work and Spanish. She is now the only member of her family not to have full permanent resident status, as she was brought to the country as a middle-schooler, and then was too old to qualify under her family’s protected status when they received it a few years ago.

Her family is in the United States. They’ve paid taxes since the beginning. Her friends and life are in the United States. She works full time and pays taxes. Why is she a threat? She’s not, and should be treated with dignity and respect for all she’s added to our society.

I’m sharing her story so she doesn’t have to, and I truly hope the president and Congress will listen to all the stories shared and do the right thing: protect DACA and support a full-on DREAM Act.

By Abigail, in Delaware

I am a Jamaican-born, American-raised, Black-immigrant woman. Before President Obama’s executive order, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA), I was what you’d consider an undocumented immigrant. In some respects, I still am. Why? Because President Trump could end DACA at the drop of a dime.

I strongly believe anywhere we are planted we are capable of blooming. As a child living in Jamaica, I had to walk five miles each day just to get clean water to drink and bathe. Every day was a struggle. I remember at the age of nine coming from school and immediately going to the river to get water for my grandmother to cook. Though I knew how tiring and exhausting my walk to get water or to go to school would be, that never stopped me. I lived in a one-bedroom house made of board and zinc, with a poorly covered outside bathroom. Although I had to grow up early in order to help my family, I consider the hardships of my early life an important source of my strong work ethic today.

Although I had to grow up early in order to help my family, I consider the hardships of my early life an important source of my strong work ethic today.

Days before my twelfth birthday, I was brought to America. I consider my arrival to America my flight to make a difference in the world. When I arrived, it was not what I envisioned. We lived in a neighborhood that was dangerous and infested with gangbangers. It was a crime-driven neighborhood. Staying after school for club meetings and activities meant that I had to walk home by myself each day, even at night, but I never backed down from those challenges.

When I was a sophomore in high school, I found out that I was classified as an undocumented immigrant. Finding this out in high school was challenging, because at that time I was excelling in academics and sports. I became ashamed of my undocumented status. I did not want to be identified or answer any questions about being at the top of my class, yet not applying to college. I did not tell anyone I was undocumented until my senior year. I remember closing my counselor’s door and disclosing my information to him. I felt like a criminal. But I am not a criminal.

After I told my counselor, he introduced me to many groups around campus that supported undocumented immigrants. He told me I could still go to college, but there were so many barriers because I was not eligible for financial aid. There were many support groups for undocumented immigrants, but there were no Jamaicans in those groups. My minority status was further pronounced, as not one person in those awareness groups looked like me. As I sought out scholarships, they did not apply to me, as they were mostly for Latinos. Most of my days and nights were spent researching scholarships. The only thing that kept me going was my faith in God.

I must have applied for over fifty scholarships. Nonetheless, I received an academic scholarship from a small university, which made my transition to college more affordable. While in college, I wanted nothing to do with undocumented immigrants. It was a part of me that I hid from many people. I never disclosed it to any of my friends. Even though I was doing internships, researching resources for undocumented immigrants, I never included myself as a case study. At this time, the DREAM Act was on its way to becoming a law, but it failed, falling eight votes short. It was then I realized that I could not wait on others.

I remember sitting at home and tears falling from my eyes because I knew it meant that I could legally work in the country that I consider my home.

During the last year of my undergraduate education, former President Obama gave young immigrants who were brought to this country [as children] an opportunity to be free from deportation. I remember sitting at home and tears falling from my eyes because I knew it meant that I could legally work in the country that I consider my home. President Obama’s plan meant that I could drive, and have proper identification. However, the work is not done, the deferred action of DACA is merely a two-year stint. There is still work to be done.

After I graduated from my undergraduate institution, I pursued my Masters in Public Policy at another prestigious university. I graduated at the top of my class. Immediately after graduation, I started working with an underserved community. After working in that community for a few months, I was promoted to a leadership role where I currently manage individuals who want to work in underserved communities.

With President Trump’s presidency, my work is not done. My passion to serve in education is connected to my passion to serve the undocumented community. Undocumented students grow up with legal access to public education, but they face legal barriers to higher education. A small number make it to college on scholarships and private loans, but they are in the shadows of their peers because they are afraid to reveal their undocumented status. Therefore, they are not in the forefront—silenced by their own fears and deterred by legal barriers. I am not a criminal; I am well educated and making a positive difference in the United States—like millions of immigrants in our history.

“Abigail” is a pseudonym.